


sweet dreams

by euriele



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Blood, M/M, Nightmares, Psychological Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-06
Updated: 2014-04-06
Packaged: 2018-01-18 07:54:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,274
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1420432
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/euriele/pseuds/euriele
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Seeing C.T's armour buried in the sand broke him. So the nightmares started again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	sweet dreams

His psyche often came into question after the Epsilon incident, especially when it concerned the Reds and Blues. He remembered walking the corridors of the Mother of Invention and hearing the whispers, knowing they were talking about his breakdown after Epsilon was implanted. He knew they talked about the scars on his face, his cold and curt demeanour that was so different from the man he once was.

Amazingly, he didn’t care for the rumours that circulated. He was above their petty gossip, and though he could even see his fellow teammates – the ones who were supposed to help him through what happened – throwing him looks as he sat alone and quiet, he didn’t let it get to him.

And then they were gone. One by one, they fell into that dark abyss that he was not ready to drop into. It started with Connie, of course, and then he lost Maine to the A.I. Sigma, and then York, and North, and so on until he was alone.

He kept on moving, because grief would hold him back and stop him from accomplishing his goals. So he didn’t feel, and he kept up his façade of being professional and calm, even though he felt like haphazardly put together porcelain inside, ready to crumble apart again at the slightest tremor.

And so he almost shattered when Maine teams up with him. He choked at the sight of Tex and almost collapsed when Carolina showed up. Teammates he long thought dead were still alive and well were showing up again just when he thought he’d finally put those nightmares to rest.

Seeing C.T’s armour buried in the sand broke him.

 

***

So the nightmares started up again. They were few and far between at first – maybe once every couple of weeks, just one night where he’d wake up in a cold sweat. And then they started to escalate until he was afraid to go asleep for fear that Tucker and Caboose would be able to hear him.

He sat on watch at night and ran rigorous training sessions every day, partially to get the Blues into shape and partially to keep himself sane. The few times he fell asleep, he made it was while he was sat outside the base, well out of the hearing ranges of his two teammates. He didn’t need Tucker or Caboose to hear him screaming away because of phantoms refusing to leave him alone. He didn’t need them to see him thrashing away on the ground, pointlessly fighting whatever ghost had him in a cold grip that night.

One night, he let his guard down.

A gruelling training session later had Washington doling out rations. He crossed over to the Red base to give the team theirs before heading back and having his own. Tucker and Caboose sat in the entrance to the base whilst Wash sat atop a crate inside, too tired to even move across the five foot gap to go sit with his two teammates.

He fell asleep without even realising, the rations still in his hand.

 

***

_She has red hair._

_That’s all he knew about the girl. Wild red hair that flew behind her as she ran from him. Red hair and a high-pitched, giggly voice that constantly teased, constantly telling him to keep up, to not fall behind._

_He knew he’d seen her before, but she felt like a stranger at the same time. The memories of Epsilon had been implanted on his brain when the A.I. had been with him for that short time, and he knew that this red haired girl was from Epsilon’s memories. All of the haunting figures from Epsilon’s memories had their backs to them. They never showed their faces, because Washington had never seen them before._

_He chased after the young girl, trying to keep up with her. She had shorter legs than him, but somehow managed to stay ahead of him, forcing him to sprint in order to keep her in sight. She would giggle and tell him to hurry up. And he would trip after her voice, following until he found that she’d come to a stop in the middle of a clearing, her head down and her back to him._

_He approached slowly, cautiously. He’d had more than enough experience with Epsilon’s memories to know that none of them were pleasant. Even an innocent little girl could be dangerous when Epsilon was involved._

_Washington reached out to rest a hand on the girl’s shoulder, but she turned before he could. He staggered back at the sight of the blood running down her cheeks and chin onto her dress. He heard the leaves shifting around him, and his heart skipped a beat when he saw figures emerging from the woods._

_People in armour. People in blood-soaked armour. His fellow Freelancers, emerging from the bushes one by one to stand in a circle around Wash and the girl, whose eyes were closed still. One by one, they removed their helmets, revealing their gaunt and blood-streaked faces._

_Bullet holes in temples. Slit throats. Disfigured faces from brutal attacks. All of the atrocities the Freelancers had been forced to experience were on display for Washington to see, and not all of them were present._

_The little girl opened her eyes, and Washington knew who she was._

_Only Carolina had the same eyes as the girl._

***

 

Washington was fast asleep atop of a crate when Tucker and Caboose walked back into the base. Tucker snorted at the sight of the sleeping Freelancer. He was ready to wake him up, before he remembered how he’d never seen the Freelancer stop for more than a second. Washington pushed Tucker to his limits, but he also pushed _himself_ to his limits.

So, instead, he had Caboose help him to lift Wash up the stairs and into his room, before he kicked the other Blue out so that he could manoeuvre Wash out of his armour and onto his bed.

It took some time, but he finally managed to pry off the last bit of Wash’s armour and discarded it on the floor, knowing that Wash would give him shit for his lack of care for the armour. He managed to somehow not wake up the agent whilst he was prying the armour away, but he figured that Wash wouldn’t be waking up for hours to come. Tucker silently hoped that it meant he finally got to sleep-in for once.

Tucker stared down at the sleeping Wash, frowning at the Freelancer’s face. He’d seen Wash without his helmet a few times, but not in the last few weeks. Wash’s young face was now gaunt and pale, and the shadows beneath his eyes made his face seem sunken. The small scar that stretched from his left eyebrow to his hairline stuck out a bit more than it usually did.

Obviously, Wash had some serious issues he was not sharing with the rest of them.

He was about to leave when he heard the smallest of whimpers. He turned back to look at Wash, who was frowning and clenching his fist in his sleep, before he shrugged and left the room.

 

***

 

_Carolina stared up at him with her shockingly green eyes, a smile spreading across her lips. She started to grow, her turquoise dress morphing into armour. The blood on her face thickened and wounds opened and closed up and down her body. He could only stand and watch as every wound she’d ever received was displayed to him, she smiling the whole time._

_“I’m sorry, David,” she said, but she did not speak alone. Another voice – another familiar, female voice – spoke with her._

_The black-armoured agent stepped out from behind Carolina, a loaded pistol in hand. She raised it up, aimed at Wash. As she pulled the trigger, a girl with short brown hair stepped in front of him, and the bullet went clean through her forehead._

_“CONNIE!”_

***

 

“ _CONNIE!”_

The first scream woke him up. The second had him sat bolt upright in bed, covers half off and deciding whether or not to investigate. The third had him out in the corridor, pistol in hand and ready to kick the ass of whatever was causing a hassle.

Tucker passed by Caboose’s room where, amazingly, he could still hear the child-like member of his team snoring away happily. He crept down the corridor, wincing when he heard the tortured scream yet again. It cut off with a whimper, and Tucker realised seconds later that it was Wash who was screaming.

He burst into Wash’s room, expecting a fight. A madman with an axe, the Reds pulling some horrific prank, or maybe even some kind of monster that managed to crawl through the windows. Instead, he was met with an image of Wash he’ll never get rid of: the agent tossing and turning in his bed, screaming and crying as he tried to escape whatever nightmare had gripped him.

 

***

 

_Her head snapped back from the force of the bullet. He expected her to fall back. He even had his arms out to catch her. But she remained stood up, still staring straight at Texas and Carolina._

_Seconds of silence passed before she turned to face him. He staggered back, a hand over his mouth. The whole in her head was bleeding heavily, and the blood ran down her face in rivulets. But, she was smiling like Carolina had been. He took another step back and almost tripped over something solid and metallic on the floor. He wanted to look, but he kept staring at Connie instead, who had opened her mouth to speak._

_“It’s okay, David,” she said, still smiling madly. “It’s okay. We’re all okay. We’re just waiting for you to join us.”_

_This time, it was Connie who held up the pistol. It was Connie who pulled the trigger. And no one stepped in front of Wash to stop the bullet that went straight for his heart._

***

 

“CONNIE!”

“Wash, Wash! Wash, calm down!”

There was an arm across his chest, a hand running through his hair. The soothing voice in his ear was familiar, but the room he was in was not. He blinked blearily, aware that tears were running down his face freely, mingling with the sweat. He forced the last traces of fear from his mind, forced himself to keep calm and just breathe.

“You’re okay, Wash,” the voice was whispering in his ear. “Just breathe. You’re fine.”

It was Tucker.

Half of Wash wanted to move. It wanted to get the hell out of that room, to run into the canyon and to not stop running until his muscles gave out. It _had_ to be Tucker who saw him like this. Out of everyone in the canyon, it had to be Tucker. He predicted it all: the taunts and teases, the Reds finding out and Wash knowing that his psyche was going to be brought into question yet again.

But, instead of running, Wash stayed still, leaning into Tucker as the younger man rocked him back and forth, whispering words of comfort in his ear and running a hand soothingly through his hair. If Tucker wanted to tease, he would’ve done if by now. So some rational part of Wash’s brain told him that Tucker was someone to trust, someone to help him get through it.

“You’re okay now,” Tucker murmured in his ear.

Wash expected him to leave. He expected the soldier to slowly inch away as the night moved on, but Tucker only moved when he decided he was uncomfortable. He shifted onto the bed, pulling Wash up so that they were spooning, with Wash being the little spoon. The comforting warmth of his teammate surrounded him and soothed him, helping him to ease in a more comfortable sleep.

 

***

 

Tucker was gone when he woke up.

He hadn’t felt the younger soldier get up, and he hadn’t heard the door snap shut. In a way, he was happy Tucker had left, because he wasn’t sure how to explain what had happened that night. He did not feel like explaining he had nightmares every night, and he definitely did not feel like explaining the reasons behind the nightmares.

Tucker would have questions, however. And Tucker was the kind of person who didn’t relent until he got the answers he wanted, and Wash didn’t feel like giving them those answers.

So he avoided Tucker that day. He didn’t run any training sessions, and he ducked around corners and left rooms whenever Tucker was in the vicinity. He spent most of the day stood on the roof of the base, watching the shenanigans going on between his teammates and the Reds.

He was managing pretty well until Tucker cornered him as he was sorting out the rations.

He’d changed out of his armour and into the spare sweats, shirt and shoes he’d salvaged from the crash site. He was planning on eating his rations in his room after doling them out, but Tucker put a stop to that plan when he blocked the entrance to the rations cupboard and full on glared at Wash.

“You owe me an explanation.”

 

***

 

Wash looked like shit.

He thought that Wash had looked bad enough the night before, but Wash seemed to look even worse, if that was possible. In the light of the day, Wash looked even paler and the shadows beneath his eyes seemed darker. Tucker glared at Wash, who glared right back at him.

“What explanation do you need?” Wash asked coldly. “I had a nightmare. End of story.”

Wash tried to push past Tucker, but Tucker blocked his path.

“Move.”

“How long have you been having nightmares?”

“Tucker –“

“Why did you never tell us before?”

“Please –“

“Would’ve been nice if you told us.”

“Tucker –“

“Is this why you sleep outside the base every night?”

“Just –“

“Why are so you desperate to hide this?”

“Because I’m fucked up!”

Tucker jumped back at Wash’s shout.

“I’m fucked up!” Wash shouted again, throwing the ration packs down on the ground angrily. “I’m fucked up, and I don’t want to drag anyone else into this messed up situation that I’m in!”

“Wash –“

“Every fucking night I have to see my friends – my _dead_ friends – and I can’t escape it. All the memories I worked hard to repress are back and are killing me like they did the first time round and I’m still too weak to stop them from haunting me. I was always too weak! The worst fighter, the weakest mind, a bad shot! The immature one and the one every could make fun of. And I’m the one who lost it when I got an A.I. No one else did. Carolina got two fucking A.I. at once and even she managed longer than I did.”

“Wash, stop –“

“I got a lid on it for a while, but seeing Connie’s armour brought it all back. I tried to kid myself, tell myself that I was strong. But I’m weak, and it only took _that_ to make it all flood back. So I see them every night. I have to see their bodies. I have to relive the guilt of everything I ever did.”

“David, stop.”

Wash froze, looking up at Tucker with fearful eyes. Wash had told Tucker his real name weeks and weeks ago, but Tucker rarely used the name. It seemed appropriate now, because Wash seemed so caught in his memories and his panic that he needed something to ground him, and that was remembering who he was.

Wash slumped and rubbed at his eyes. “Sorry.”

“It’s fine, Wash.”

“I just… I’m so _tired_.”

The exhaustion and the despair were so apparent in Wash’s tone that Tucker didn’t think twice before he wrapped his arms around the shorter, skinner man. Wash stiffened, before he melted into the hug, his hands bunching up the back of Tucker’s shirt. And they stood like that for several moments, with Wash shaking in his grasp and Tucker running his hands up and down his back soothingly.

And then Wash stepped back, wiping at his red rimmed eyes and scooping up the dropped rations.

“I need to go to Red base,” he said, his voice thick. “Grif will come and raid the stock if I don’t go over soon.”

“Wash –“

“Later.”

Tucker didn’t try to stop him as he walked away.

 

***

 

That night, Wash stayed in the base for once. And, that night, Tucker came bursting in yet again when he screamed and thrashed himself awake. And Wash would be lying if he said he didn’t like how Tucker curled up at his side, his arms around Wash’s waist and his head on Wash’s shoulder.

Tucker chased the nightmares away. He didn’t let Wash face the spectres alone. And, slowly, the nightmares faded from being nightly to be one in a hundred nights. Tucker no longer used the nightmares as an excuse to stay in Wash’s bed. It became common for them to share a bed, curled up against each other. And Tucker would already be there when the nightmares came for Wash, already shaking the Freelancer awake and chasing the phantoms away.

 

***

 

But then he was captured by the Federal Army alongside Sarge and Donut, and there was no one there to help him at night. And he screamed himself awake on night in their cell, with Sarge and Donut standing over him with confused expressions. But he didn’t explain, for they had enough on their plates with the rigorous questioning and the torture.

He did his best to protect the other two, offering himself to spare the Reds from the torture. He knew Sarge liked to act tough, but even he would break under the questioning techniques of the Federal Army. And Donut wouldn’t last five minutes before he broke. So Wash took all the beatings for them until the Feds finally had enough.

The screams of his comrades joined the nightmares.

 

***

 

The day came when alarms scream and flash red. The distorted voice of a woman woke them up, shouting about ‘intruders’. Sarge, Donut and Wash were awake in an instant, already stood by the glass wall entrance to their cell, watching the soldiers on guard raced past to face the ‘intruders’.

“What’s happening?” Donut asked, his palms against the glass.

“How should we know?” Sarge grumbled.

They stood by the glass entrance for several minutes, waiting to hear even the tiniest bit of news on what was going on. And finally, Locus and a squad of soldiers appeared at the door, heavily armed. The glass door slid open and Locus stood in the doorway, pistol in hand.

“You’ve got one last chance to tell us what you know,” Locus said. “One last chance before we put this whole level in lockdown. Your friends will never get to you. Tell us what you know, and we might let you live – ‘might’ being the keyword here.”

Wash looked to both Donut and Sarge, both of whom looked to be thinking the same thing Wash was thinking. Despite how incompetent their friends were, they would be able to find the three of them regardless.

So Wash turned to Locus and said, “Fuck you.”

Locus sighed. “Your choice.”

He aimed at Wash and pulled the trigger.

 

***

 

Getting in the base was easy enough. Trying to find Wash and the Reds was another job entirely since the lowest level of the base – where Wash, Donut and Sarge were being held – was in total lockdown. But they finally managed to bypass the system and unlocked the elevator.

The elevator doors swung open once they reached the level, and Donut’s shouts immediately filled his ears.

“HELP! HELP US!”

Tucker set off at a run.

 

***

 

Two bullets: one to the right side of his chest and the other to his stomach. He fell backwards, barely aware of Locus and his squad leaving and locking the level down or of Donut’s cries for help. Sarge was kneeling down by his side, his hands going to the hole in Wash’s chest.

“Donut, help me!” Sarge shouted.

“I-I don’t know what to do –“

“Just put pressure on the wound, dammit! He’s gonna bleed out.”

The room began to spin, and Sarge’s battle-scarred and weatherworn face was already blurred. The pain of the two bullet wounds was so intense it was numbed, pushing him to the edge of consciousness where he could hear the cries for help but only distantly; where he could feel the pressure of both Sarge’s and Donut’s hands over the wounds faintly.

“C’mon, Wash,” Sarge grumbled. Sarge manoeuvred Wash out of his shirt before tearing it into two, handing one half to Donut before pressing his own half down on the wound.

“Stay with us,” Sarge was mumbling, but his voice was already too faint, and the light above his head was getting bigger and brighter.

 

***

 

Tucker almost collapsed when he saw how much blood was on the floor. It was too much. Far too much blood. And the puddles were growing steadily as it continued to poor out of Wash’s body with both Sarge and Donut trying to desperately plug the leaks.

“What the hell happened?” he asked as he knelt beside his dying friend.

“Locus shot him,” Donut said, sitting back and holding his shaking hands away from himself as Tucker took over from him, applying pressure to the wound in Wash’s stomach.

“He tried to get us to talk before they left us,” Sarge said. “But we’re a bunch of stubborn bastards and Wash paid the price for it.”

“We need to get him medical attention,” Kimball said, standing in the doorway.

“Do we have the base, though?” Felix asked.

“Most of the Feds are gone now,” Kimball said. “The ones who are left will be dead soon. Let’s move him. We have a Pelican on standby.”

“Hang on,” Tucker growled, making Donut take off his shirt so that he could use the fabric as bandages. Sarge followed his example, making makeshift bandages across Wash’s chest whilst Tucker did the same across his stomach.

“Move him now,” Kimball ordered.

Muttering obscenities, Tucker slid an arm beneath Wash’s knees and across his back, lifting him up and trying to be as cautious as he could. Wash groaned and his eyelids fluttered before he slumped again.

“Hang on, Wash,” Tucker muttered to him as he ran down endless corridors. “Hang on.”

 

***

 

_An endless corridor. Wash stood in an endless corridor, blood running from his chest and his stomach. He staggered along, dragging his hands along the walls and leaving blood trails until the walls started to bleed, blood running faster than waterfalls and pooling on the floor._

_He kept going, staggering on without purpose. His eyes were lowered, watching the blood on the floor. He didn’t even notice the door until he was stood right in front of it, his hand on the handle._

_There was screaming, and he knew the screams. Connie’s and Sarge’s and Carolina’s. Donut, North, South, York, Tex, Grif, Simmons, Donut, Caboose, Church … Tucker._

_He pushed the door open._

_And, despite how many voices he could hear on the outside, only two people stood on the inside. Tucker was one of those two, kneeling in the centre of a circle of light with blood and dirt on his armour. His helmet was on the ground beside him, and his dreadlocks fell around his face. It was Locus who stood behind him, pressing a pistol to the back of the Blue’s head._

_Tucker looked up at Washington and smiled before Locus pulled the trigger._

 

***

 

“NO, NO, NO!”

“Wash, wake up!”

His eyes snapped open.

Tucker stood over him, perfectly fine save for a new scar on his left cheek. He was holding onto Wash’s wrists, stopping the Freelancer from struggling. As soon as Tucker saw that Wash was awake, he wrapped his arms around him, making Wash splutter.

“What’s going on?” he asked, vaguely aware of an ache in his stomach and his chest. “Where am I? Where’s Donut and Sarge? Are they okay?”

“Calm down,” Tucker said with a laugh as he stepped back, sinking into a seat by Wash’s bed. “They’re fine. We broke you guys out of the Fed base. You’re with the New Republic now, Wash. And, well… you’ve been out for a month.”

“A month?” Wash frowned and looked around the small hospital room, noting the makeshift cards on the windowsill.

“Yep,” Tucker said with a sigh. “Docs thought you weren’t going to make it for quite a while. But you pulled through, because you’re tough son of a bitch.”

“Are Sarge and Donut okay?” Wash asked.

“Fine. Perfectly fine. You’re the only one stupid enough to get a guy to shoot you twice.”

Wash smiled, and Tucker smiled back.

 

***

 

The nightmares came back again that night, but Tucker was there once more. The nightmare had barely even started before Tucker was shaking Wash awake, whispering words of comfort in his ear and rocking him back and forth gently until Wash calmed down. He made to move away, to go back to his seat or maybe to leave the room, but Wash grabbed his wrist and stopped him from moving away.

“Stay?” he asked.

He didn’t ask twice.

Tucker slipped onto the bed beside him, sitting in a position where Wash was leant back against his shoulders. His arms were around Wash’s waist, and their fingers were intertwined. Wash rested his head against Tucker’s shoulder and smiled when he felt Tucker’s lips brush the top of his head.

“Sweet dreams,” Tucker whispered.

**Author's Note:**

> i completely understand if y'all hate this because i suck and this was rushed


End file.
